At the risk of sounding anti-education (which I'm totally not!), I have been thinking alot lately about how nice it would be to see certain things implemented into our educational system. I got to thinking about this on more than one occasion at work the past few days. It actually came up in a few conversations I had with one or two clients, as well as my supervisor yesterday during a meeting.

How much stuff do we learn in school (primarily public schools and to a lesser extent, universities) that we really truly need? Where is the practical intelligence of learning things that have the most effect on our everyday lives?

I realize we all need the basics ("reading, writing, 'rithmetic," as the saying goes) to further ourselves beyond the 'basic' level successfully. But are the basics even 'basic' enough? While children may be learning algebra or what the term 'foreshadowing' means in English class, how is either one honestly relevant to the "real world" as an adult? Unless you want to become a Math and English teacher, not a whole helluva lot.

Again, I'm not anti-education. I do think practical life skills should be taught in our schools though. Did anyone ever show you how to balance a checkbook when you were in school? What about doing your taxes? Did anyone teach you how to effectively deal with conflict management, how to handle confrontations with other people without resorting to nasty verbal or physical fights? What about knowledge on other cultures, races,etc? What about learning how to see, analyze, and appreciate different viewpoints to facilitate open-mindedness in each other? What about teaching others critical thinking, to think for themselves on important decisions and/or developing one's worldview? How about knowing what to do in an emergency situation (how to think fast/'on the fly')? I could go on, as there are many more I could probably think of it illustrate this point if I continue to think critically about it, but that could take all day!

 It may sound complex, but don't we come across this stuff frequently throughout our lives?  Alot of society's issues stem from this problem area of what's lacking in the overall education system. They deserve a big fat "F" for 'failure' to teach these simple, yet key "learning objectives" in life.

Some critics may argue "Well, that's what parents are for!" Sure, in a perfect world maybe. How many people come from the 'perfect' home where their parents are around or even attentive enough to teach these things (at least without the help of a community/school teaching all this too)?

During my meeting with my supervisor yesterday, we had an interesting segment of conversation. My supervisor was giving me my annual review and we were going over work goals I had set and accomplished since last July. While brainstorming what my new goals for the upcoming year would be, one of the goals I came up with was to learn more about pharmacology/prescription meds. I was telling her how important it was for me to have a background knowledge on different medications people take for mental issues like depression, anxiety, schizophrenia,etc because I have many MISA (Mentally Ill Substance Abusers) clients. In order to understand them and help them most effectively, it would help to familiarize myself with common medications associated with certain mental disorders. I never had a class in graduate school on psychotropic medications. I told my supervisor how I couldn't understand how EVERYONE in a psychology grad school that is studying to be a therapist could NOT be required to take such a class. Sure, that's what psychiatrists are for, but again.....what about those who can't afford to go to a psychiatrist? Most of my clients are low income. They get meds from their regular doctor and get their counseling with me. In those instances, I take on the pseudo-role of a psychiatrist. I cannot prescribe it, but I certainly still need to be familiar with it. My supervisor agreed with me that people don't teach you the practical things. She pointed out that she never learned how to do a treatment plan or how to conduct a mental assessment in grad school. I didn't either!

Granted, there are going to be things in life that cannot be easily taught. Things happen and we have to utilize whatever intelligence we have at any given time to help us learn the sometimes challenging, tough life lessons. But wouldn't it be nice if at least a fraction of practical things started being taught in schools? It certainly would be one less thing to wonder or worry about.....

After my grandmother died when I was 10 years old, I started getting to know my grandfather more. Over the years, we eventually became close. Prior to that time,  it felt like he was more an extension of the love my grandmother showered upon me. He was always around, but never took the 'spotlight' in my life until after her death. I sometimes wonder if I would have had the opportunity to establish such a bond with him if my grandmother had not died when she did.

We moved away from our small hometown of Derry, New Hampshire shortly after my grandmother's death in 1988. Moving to the Great Bridge/Chesapeake, Virginia town was a big transition for everyone in the family, my grandfather being no exception. With his wife and his daughter's family now gone, loneliness was more the norm than the exception.

While he could have easily sank into a depression or been discouraged by the circumstances, he instead utilized the opportunity to connect with our family by starting a new annual tradition. For the next three or four years, he would drive across the miles to our house and live with us. I can't remember how long he would stay, but I do remember every year he always arrived right around the holidays near Thanksgiving time. I credit his living in our house with my growing curiosity to spend time with him, including getting to know his personality and his little idiosyncracies I wouldn't likely have seen much of otherwise.

Grampa loved watching the evening news, as well as the cop drama of the 80's, "TJ Hooker." I remember watching many afternoon episodes with him. He would sit comfortably in our plush pink leather chair in the living room. Frequently, I would ask him a question or comment on something happening in the show, only to look over and see him nodding off into a nap. hehehe. He loved eating the Swanson fried chicken, corn, and mashed potato tv dinners. He also had a thing for the occasional sardines out of a can. They stunk so bad I could smell it on his breath if I got close enough to give him a kiss on the cheek before I went to bed! He would just laugh, as he never failed to see the humor in most situations. He enjoyed photography and equally loved traveling. Sometimes he would let me tag along with him on little excursions, one of which involved us taking the dog with us to check out one of Virginia's great historical sites.

One memory that sticks out most vividly in my mind, however, is the image of him sitting at the desk in my brother's room when we lived in Panama City, Florida. I always knew when Grampa was around when I could hear loud distinct typewriter noises, extending all the way down the hall of the house. I would walk out of my room to see what little writing project he was working on at the moment. No matter what he was writing, whether a letter or a short story, he always looked productive and engrossed in his art. 

Glasses slid almost to the bottom of his nose, his fingers rapidly tapping the keys of the typewriter, he was in his creative element. No one could bother him or pull him out of that state of mind if they tried. This simultaneously fascinated and perplexed me at the time. Looking back in hindsight, perhaps my having observed him happily engaging in this pursuit had some influence in my own developing writing endeavors over the years.

 I started writing in a journal when I was 15 or 16 years old, though it was never anything I considered interesting material. More like "I have a crush on so and so" or writing about what I did with my friends over the weekend. Having moved alot throughout my childhood and teen years, I picked up the hobby of writing letters or emails to friends as I got got older. Aside from the aforementioned, I didn't write much else for pleasure. I remember writing silly little poems when I was in college, I shamefully must admit. But I wasn't good at it. There were endless papers to churn out in college and graduate school, but I didn't think much of my writing. The way I saw it, I wasn't doing anything different than other students working hard on a paper to get a good grade. This changed, however, when I started writing without it being out of obligation. Just pure enjoyment.

Like the reminiscent image of my grandfather happily engaged at the desk at our house in Florida, I have become the modern reflection of this image. Now it is I sitting at the desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, unaware of all else around me besides the words I create on the screen in front of me.

As I sit now and write with a similar passion for the art form, I smile and think of how my grandfather's memory and art live on within me.

Most of my writing ideas come to me in the quiet early morning hours before I go to work. Sometimes they are gleaned from conversations with others. Then there are the seemingly unlikeliest of times one might expect to get writing material: while running. Yesterday morning was one such occurence.

As I neared the end of my run by the lake's harbor, I thought about running as a metaphor for my motivation on any given point in time. When I feel motivated, I run. When I run, I feel motivated. It's bit of a chicken before the egg syndrome. Which comes first? Sure, it's been proven exercise gives us more energy, endorphins ('feel good' chemicals in the brain),etc But don't we have to get the motivation to run first? For me, mainly yes. Yesterday it occurred to me that how motivated I am in other areas of my life can be gauged by my running habits (minus any weather issues!). One week or two I can easily run three times per week. Then another week I may be lucky if I run even once!

It's not just the frequency that reflects my inner motivations; it's also the intensity and endurance I put forth. For instance, yesterday when I felt an urge to stop running to walk for a minute or so, I pushed my endurance by thinking "Ok, just run five more feet to the lightpost ahead." I reached the marker and then it became "Run ten more feet to the park bench." Before I knew it, I had gone 30-40 more feet without stopping to walk at all! Other days I can barely make it to the first "marker" I set for myself.

On highly motivated days, I feel highly accomplished. On low motivation days, I don't feel quite so good about myself. This can be translated as a parallel to what's going on in my life. If I feel this way at work (today for instance being a low motivation/anxious day), with relationships and/or other goals I aim for, this is more or less how I'll feel when my feet touch the open road to run (or not).

Last year while having coffee with a friend of mine, we had an interesting conversation that still sticks in my mind. He believes there are three kinds of people in life: walkers, runners, and jumpers. This is, of course, a metaphor for how people tend to live their lives. He explained runners are those who go after what they want, whereas walkers are slow at setting and accomplishing things. Jumpers are the extreme example of ambition. "They are the ones who have everything going for them. They graduate two years early from school, that sort of thing." My friend categorized himself a "walker" and I the "runner."

What if we don't fall in one particular category though? As I mentioned, there are days I feel like 'walking' through my life and there are days I want to 'run, run, run.' Sometimes I even like to 'dream' or be off in a daze without doing one thing. And I think that's ok.